Destructive
by Amnesie
Summary: PostDesire oneshot. Focuses on Mark's thoughts... but he has a little help in deciphering them


Hospitals exist to fix people. That's what doctors do. This institution in particular is known for its world class physicians… for its groundbreaking procedures… for its ability to heal. But the only wounds that doctors are able to fix are physical ones. Patients get sent home after surgeries, after invasive procedures, to recover… to rebuild their spirits… to renew themselves. They're expected to do that on their own.

But sometimes the wounds that sting the worst are the emotional ones. The ones that doctors can't fix. The ones that doctors can sometimes inflict.

* * *

"Why'd you do it?" 

He looked up, raising his head from his arms, to glare at the person who'd dare disrupt his much needed period of angst and self-loathing. Was a man not allowed to have a moment to himself anymore? Or was he supposed to continually let life do its best to him, to knock him down as often it possible could, without giving him time to recover? Lately, it seemed like the latter.

"Do what?"

She gave him her patented glare, crossing her arms in trademark form. Standing before his desk, she was an imposing figure.

"Don't play that game with me. I know everything that goes on. Everything. I keep saying it, but none of you fools believes me. I know that Shepherd's being an ass to Grey, that Stevens and O'Malley slept together. Yeah, surprised me too. I know that you've got the Chief out trying to pick up women and I know that just a few hours ago, Addison Montgomery and my hotheaded intern Karev slept together in a freaking closet."

She paused, measuring his reaction. "I also know that you told her you cheated on her."

He stiffened, bracing himself against her invasiveness. "I did."

"You didn't."

He ran his eyes over her, trying to discern her intentions. "Why do you care?"

She shook her head. "I don't care."

Realizing the falsehood, she stopped and put her hands on her hips, looking down at him directly. "Usually I don't," she said, amending her statement.

"But you do this time? Great."

Her eyes squinted at his sarcasm. "I don't like you."

He was about to respond, but she cut him off. "I don't like you. You're nasty and chauvinistic and think you're God's gift to women. But you did something that's unexpected, that's not like you, and it's making me like you. I don't want to like you. So tell me why so I can get over that feeling. I'm going to find out. Just this one time, though, I'm going to flat out ask. Why? You have no reason to do what you did. You could have flaunted her transgression in her face, made her feel like the worst person in the world. It would have been an ass thing to do, but no one would have been surprised. You didn't. Why?"

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was obvious she wasn't leaving.

"I'm self-destructive, remember?"

"Right." She nodded, agreeing with his statement of the obvious.

"That's it. That explains it."

She shook her head again before planting herself in a chair opposite him. Surveying his taut face and weary eyes, she could see that he was suffering.

"You're self-destructive anyway," she replied, stating the obvious. "That's not a reason to be self-sacrificing. To not destroy her."

He exhaled deeply, his eyes connecting with hers. "What do you want me to say, Miranda?"

"The truth."

He scoffed, his cynicism at such a notion evident. "The truth? Fine. The truth is I was fooling myself all along. I should have known she'd never choose me over Derek. Not really. Not in the way it matters. But I tried anyway, didn't I? All because I wanted it to be true… for us to be true. I was the fool. I thought we were something we weren't, something we'd never be. She never promised me anything she didn't deliver. I was the misguided one; I was the fool. I couldn't take out my frustrations over my sheer idiocy on her."

She sat back in her chair, studying him intently. "What about Karev?"

He smirked sardonically, his scorn aimed only at himself. "What about him? She chose him. Fine."

Her look was disbelieving. "I don't get it."

He laid his hands on the table, as if revealing all of the cards in his hand. "What am I supposed to do? Hate her? I can try. But I don't. That's just the thing. I don't hate her and I don't think I ever will. For the first time in my life I got emotionally involved and… I got screwed over. That doesn't mean she has to be. I want her to be happy and… well…she can't be that if she thinks that I'm pining over her, that she destroyed me. So I told her what I think she really wanted to hear."

She gazed at him curiously. "How do you know that's what she wanted?"

"I've been here, Miranda. She knows that. But the thing is, she also knows me. She knows I'm damaged goods, that I'll never be a Derek equivalent in her eyes. She knows I'm self-destructive, so…"

He ended with a shrug and she shook her head in amazement.

"So you destroyed yourself… in her eyes."

He looked at her pointedly before shifting uncomfortably in his chair. She caught his movement and took it for what it was- a sign that their discussion was over. That he had come to terms with his decision.

She stood up and walked towards the door, but stopped to look at him one last time.

"If it's any consolation, Sloan, while you may look worse in her eyes, you sure as hell look better in mine."

He smirked devilishly and she could tell he was about to let out a mischievous comment.

It was good to know that the old Mark Sloan was back.


End file.
